04

Chapter Three: The Oil Company Executive, Ty Haskell

How could I ever have imagined I'd be in a situation like this? But it is all about business—all about who was going to offer the best oil concessions.

It was hard to tell whether the young blond was a willing participant or not when I was ushered to the pool house of Prince Sayeed el-Basir's palace. Amir, the prince's son, was known to buy young blonds in the market to fuck, and Amir sometimes shared his latest purchase with me. It was part of Amir's hold over me—knowing what I liked. It wasn't usually spoken of, though—what happened to the young blond after Amir had shared him with me.

They were on the lounge bed facing the open wall toward the swimming pool. The frame for the lounge bed had been lowered from the ceiling, so that there were poles at all four corners. The young blond's wrists and ankles were tethered at the four points, facing down, and Amir was underneath him, lying on his back, his feet on the floor at the foot of the lounge bed. His hands were gripping the young man's waist and he was fucking up into the blond's passage.

The sounds the blond was making—egging Amir on to fuck him—indicated this was a willing coupling.

Amir had called me to the palace ostensibly to discuss oil ventures—I was the regional manager of my oil company in his country, which was sitting on one of the largest remaining pools of oil on the planet. Amir was one of the major backers of the company's interests in the emirate. We would be discussing something else entirely, though. If any of my friends and coworkers had any inkling what I was here to discuss with Amir, the shock would reverberate around the world. I wasn't just an oil company representative here; my wife was the chief of station of the American embassy here—the chief U.S. intelligence officer in the country. I meant, in fact, for there to be a shock reverberating around the world from what Amir and I were meeting about; I just didn't intend for this shock ever to be connected with me.

I stood there for a few moments, watching Amir plow the young man's ass. The blond's cock was hard and rubbing up and down on Amir's stomach and flopping back and forth from the force of the thrusts of Amir's cock inside him.

"He will accommodate what you enjoy, Ty," Amir called out when he saw that I had arrived. "By all means, get comfortable and join us."

I didn't hesitate. Amir and I had enjoyed several young men together. I had unusual tastes and Amir accommodated me. I had taught him the satisfaction of the double penetration.

Naked as they were, I approached the lounge bed and went down on my knees between Amir's and the young blond's spread legs. The young man's his ankles were loosely bound, and his knees dug into the mattress on either side of Amir's chest. The blond cried out as I ran a hand between their bellies and grasped the young man's cock, gathered up his balls with one hand, and pulled and squeezed gently as the fingers of my other hand went to encircle the root of Amir's cock as it moved in and out of the young man's hole and my thumb pushed into the hole on top of Amir's cock.

The young blond squirmed and groaned, but he didn't object to both Amir's cock and my thumb being inside him.

Must be a willing one, I thought. When the ones Amir had purchased in the market for his use started to understand what Amir and I had in mind, they usually started to struggle. Amir liked that. I always felt a little guilty about it, especially after I realized how some of the young men were disposed of afterward. But I always carried through. I only rarely had been able to feed my fetish before Penny and I had been assigned here—her by the U.S. government and me by Santag Oil. Besides, Amir included me in this—and made sure I knew what happened to the young men afterward—some of them; not all of them, thank god—as some sort of hold over me for the serious business we were engaged in.

Amir had twisted the young man to the side enough for me to take his cock in my mouth. After I had made the young man come in my throat and raised up from my knees and started to rub my hard cock on his inner thighs, across his perineum, and on the rim gripping Amir's sheathed cock, the young man started to breathe heavily and to whine softly.

It was what he was whining that I was listening for. "Oh, god yes," he was whispering. "Fuck me. Both of you."

A delicious chill went up my spine. He was the first who asked for what we did. He welcomed it rather than fought it until all of the fight was double fucked out of him.

Amir was steadily stroking him, as Amir was able to do. He could keep up a stroke for long periods of time.

Standing between the two men's spread thighs, I positioned my cock head at the young man's hole at the underside of Amir's sheathed and undulating cock.

"Yes, yes, yes," the young man murmured.

I needed no more assurance and invitation. I began to work my cock head in below Amir's. The Arab held steady while I pressed in. The young blond was moaning softly. I leaned down into his back, wrapped my arms around his torso, and took his nipples, one after the other, between my thumbs and fingers and rolled the nipples hard. He was trembling under my attention but was begging me to enter him deeper and to stroke him.

Slowly, I did as he asked and he was moving with us. Amir was gently stroking again. All three of us settled into a rhythm. I moved my face alongside the young man's. He turned his head and was looking into my eyes, his wide with the effort to take the cocks of two men. His lips opened in anticipation of the kiss to come.

My eyes opened wide then, as I realized who it was that Amir and I were double fucking. I had only seen him once previously. But it had been earlier in the day, at my residence in the embassy compound—or, rather, the residence of the chief of station, Penny, my wife. There had been a cocktail reception. It was Hunter Sean Caldwell III, who went by Sean—because his father was Hunter Sean Caldwell II, and was also here. His father was the American ambassador.

I was double fucking the son of the American ambassador.

* * * *

I was too taken up with the fuck to stop when I realized it was Sean Caldwell we were doubling. And even though he was spread-eagled and bound to the four corners of the bed, he was very vocally begging for the fuck. Still, the danger of knowing what I was doing to the ambassador's son got to me and cold cocked me before I could fire off. I pulled out of him and sat over to the side, watching Amir fuck him hard while he bounced up and down on the bed on top of the Arab and cried out for more of what Amir was giving him.

Amir stopped poking him to rest for a few minutes during which we discussed the coming operation we were planning together, but Amir started up with his thrusts again and I was about to join in when a commotion over at the side of the terrace arrested my attention. I was shocked to see that the station tech, Chris Carter, was at the entrance to the pool area, talking in animated terms with two guards. I stood and moved toward him, hoping that the ambassador's son was too preoccupied to see him. Chris was our deep-cover agent in place. He shouldn't be here. This wasn't a day he was supposed to come here for Amir to assert his control over the man. We were too close to our objective to start mucking up now.

"Chris, what the fuck are you . . .?" I stopped dead in my tracks as I got close enough to see that he was splattered with blood. He had a panicked look on his face, and he looked like he was in shock.

"I had to do it. He heard," Chris cried out in a strangled voice. He was holding something in his hand, extended toward me. It was a cassette tape of some sort.

"What is it, Chris?" I asked. "What's happened. What's this? Who is 'he' and what did he hear?" He was trying to hand the cassette to me, but I didn't want to take it. It was covered in blood.

"Hugh. I had to. We have to get rid of this."

"Hugh? What about Hugh?" He must be referring to Hugh Strong, the other station tech, I thought. I reasoned that it must be Hugh's blood he was covered in. Chris didn't look like he was wounded anywhere.

"I had to kill him. We were put on surveillance across the street, and—"

"Surveillance? Surveillance of the palace? Of this pool area?"

"Yes."

I looked around, fearfully, at the bed in the pool house. Amir had released Sean Caldwell's ankles, but turned him and rebound his wrists. He was standing between the young blond's raised and spread thighs, still fucking him hard. Not much I could do about that at the moment.

"Come. Back out to the car park. Calm down and tell me exactly what happened, what this cassette is. Where is Hugh?"

When I got Chris calmed down and found that the cassette he was holding was the only audio tape that had been collected of what was happening in the pool house, I began to plan how we were going to cover this. I went back to the guard and said, "Find me the fanciest piece of communications equipment you can in the palace that is portable, and bring it here as quickly as possible." The guard gave me a funny look, but when I barked, "Now," he set off toward a two-story building separate from the palace proper but inside the compound. Within a few minutes, he was back.

I took the piece of equipment from him and turned to Chris. "Will this pass as a piece of Santag Oil commo equipment that I asked you to repair for me and let me know where I could pick it up just as soon as you had it fixed?"

"Yes, I guess so," Chris answered rather vaguely.

"Stay with me, Chris," I barked, and his head snapped up and he seemed to focus better. "Go in to the pool house and take a quick shower. The guy Amir is fucking is about your size"—I was careful not to say it was Sean Caldwell, although Chris had made quite sure to let me know he had identified the young man's voice on the tape and that was partly why he did what he had to do. "Put his clothes on, and let's go back across the street. Strip off here and give the guard your clothes." I still didn't want to touch anything with blood on it.

To the guard, I said, "Take these clothes and burn them. Make sure nothing's left. I can either tell Amir you performed well in a crisis or that you didn't." Looking scared, the guard took the clothes and ran off, again toward the separate two-story building.

An hour later, when the Marine guards and Penny showed up at the apartment house across from the palace, Chris and I had managed to reset the scene around the body of Hugh Strong and gotten some audio on a cassette from a room in the palace that wasn't occupied. I told Penny that Chris had repaired some commo equipment for me that I needed to get back on line at the Santag Oil office as soon as possible—he'd told me he'd meet me on the street in front of the palace to give it to me. No, he hadn't told me he was on a surveillance assignment in the area, I said. He'd just been down on the street with me for a few minutes and I was still muscling the equipment into my car—which I'd brought out onto the street from the palace compound, not telling Penny I'd been in the palace—when he came running back to tell me he had found Hugh murdered.

It wasn't brilliant, but it was just weird enough to be believable. And I was the COS's husband. If Penny wasn't going to be suspicious of me, who else in the embassy would be?

I just had to hope and pray that while Penny's team was doing cleanup—this was not something she was going to bring the local authorities in on; she said she'd track down the killer herself—the ambassador's son wouldn't emerge from the palace and be observed—dressed in whatever Amir had found to put on him, since Chris now was wearing his clothes.

It was only later that Amir told me that Sean Caldwell already had been recruited before coming out to the emirate—by Josef Garfeh in California, just as Chris had been recruited. Amir didn't identify Garfeh by name, but I already knew who the mastermind behind all of this was from my own sources. Penny wasn't the only spy in the Haskell family. I can't say I liked broadening out the cast of characters in this operation, but it wasn't my call. My concern was to get the Egyptians to change their stance on well drilling and contracting with Santag Oil.

When I'd recovered from the crisis, I thought on the beautiful body of the ambassador's son and how willingly and well he'd taken the double fuck. I was happy that he wouldn't meet the fate of some of the young blonds Amir purchased—and that, perhaps, the three of us could play again.

Chapter Four: The Ambassador's Son, Sean Caldwell

I was afraid, yes, when the prince's son told me to come over to him at the bed in the palace's pool house. I wasn't afraid because he was going to fuck me, but because he was pulling restraints down from the frame above the posts at the four corners of the bed. I was going to be bound and at his mercy while he fucked me—while he did whatever he wanted with me. I wasn't sure of him—whether he was sure of me, and he needed to be sure of me. That's why I'd put myself in this position.

I recognized that this was all part of the testing. I had been vouched for, but for what Amir el-Basir wanted me to do for him—for his cause—I could accept that he would want to test me for himself.

"Come, come to me," he said again, gently, giving me a calm look with those dark eyes of his. He was a handsome man. I could see the resemblance—that they were cousins. A great body and a cock that took my breath away. Soon, very soon, that cock would be inside me, with me bound and not in a position to deny Amir anything. I steeled myself. I had known what I was getting into.

* * * *

"Come, come to me." Josef had said it as well. His eyes had been as dark and inviting. It was my third visit to his apartment—ostensibly to study Arabic—at Stanford. He was the professor in my Muslim studies class and had offered to tutor me in Arabic. My father had recently been appointed to an ambassadorship in a Gulf emirate, which wasn't important for its size or even its wealth but for the lake of oil it was floating on. But I was interested in the Middle East even before that, and also sympathetic with the plight of the Muslims of the world and of how much they were being misunderstood in the West of late. I had gone to great lengths to voice this position on campus and had gravitated to the handsome professor, Josef Garfeh, as much as he eventually told me he had gravitated to me.

We were sitting close together on a divan laden with pillows covered by native crafts in the living room of his apartment at Stanford, a brass table in front of us. And an opium water pipe—a hookah—on the table. Josef was teaching me much more of Muslim life and culture than my courses at the university were. We were both wearing a white dishdasha, the robes of the men of the Middle East—and nothing else. He had one arm around me. The other had unbuttoned the top of the dishdasha down to my waist and had moved inside and cupped one of my nipples while we first kissed. We pulled away from the kiss for each of us to take a drag on the hookah. I had just inhaled the smoke when he covered my mouth with his again to hold the smoke in. His free hand had gone under the hem of the dishdasha and glided up my thigh as I shuddered at his touch. He ran his fingers through my pubic thatch. His other hand was at the back of my head, his fingers running through my blond curls.

I knew we would fuck. That was fine with me. Josef had made clear that if I came to him for the third time, if I wore a dishdasha and nothing else for him, and if I joined him in smoking the hookah, we would fuck.

"Are you that way all over?" he murmured.

"What way?" My words sounded thick and from a distance to me. I was aware enough to know it was the opium, although I had inhaled very little. I was more interested in the fuck. I wanted to be fully aware of him fucking me.

"Blond. Are you a natural blond, or do you just color your head hair?"

"Why don't you find out for yourself?" I whispered dreamily.

And he moved down my body while his hand unbuttoned the dishdasha all of the way and brushed it off my now-naked body. I stretched my body, moaned, and arched my back as his tongue went up one side of my hard cock and down the other, traveled up through the blond, curly hair of my thatch to my belly and rimmed my navel before moving back down for his mouth to cover and descend on my cock. He grabbed my buttocks with his hands and lifted and spread them, and I grabbed for his head, running my fingers through his black, silky hair, and groaned to the ceiling as his mouth moved up and down on the cock, faster and faster.

I cried out and dug my fingers deep in the hair on the back of his head, as his hands covered and spread my butt cheeks and greased index fingers found my rim on either side and then pressed in and in, opening me up and stretching me, rhythmically moving in a fast vibrating motion that had me writhing under him, nonsensically crying out "Fuck, fuck, fuck" as his mouth joined the rhythm of the fingers drumming and pulling.

Crying out for mercy for him to slow down, but receiving none. Warning him in no uncertain terms I was going to come. And then I did, down his throat.

I fell back deep into the pillows, exhausted and spent. Josef stood, between my thighs, and looking down at me, with a lazy smile. I lay there, panting, and watching him through an opiate haze as he rolled a condom on his cock, raised my left leg and placed my ankle on his shoulder, and took my right ankle in his left hand and raised and spread my legs. I watched him grasp his engorged, sheathed cock in his right hand and move it down. And then I felt the bulb at my entrance. All the time, he was looking down into my face, smiling slightly, and holding my eyes in thrall with his. His eyes were mesmerizing.

I jerked slightly and gave a little grunt as I felt the bulb enter me. I'd been well opened, though, and I drew in my breath and held it as he slid inside, deep. I almost passed out in forgetting to breathe as he grasped my right ankle and raised that leg and spread it wide, like the left. I moaned at the feel of his throbbing cock buried deep inside me and began to pant heavily. He leaned his torso down, almost touching mine, his eyes boring into mine. And then he started to pump hard, fast, deep, and I gasped and writhed under him, both loving it and afraid of it—afraid of the hold he was casting over me.

Afraid of what he'd want from me, even though this was exactly what I wanted from him.

"Blond all over," He murmured afterward as we lay in each other's arms. "My cousin will love that."

"Your cousin?" I asked. The fear returning to me, but knowing this was what we had been building to—what I had been working to as well.

"We've discussed this. You have expressed interest in this. The excitement, the making a difference, a statement. I have seen in you the desire to race with the devil. I don't think I was mistaken."

"No, you weren't mistaken," I answered, turning my head away from him so that he wouldn't see the uncertainty of the smile I couldn't suppress. There was his definition of the devil, but that wasn't necessarily everyone's definition. And in the difference of opinion, there was great danger.

* * * *

Amir sounded so much like Josef when he said "Come, come to me." That was natural, of course, because they were cousins. And I'd come to visit my father because they were. My father and I weren't really that close. He just was in the right place at the right time for the plans I had been included in.

"Strip your clothes off," Amir said when I was standing just a few feet from him, and then, when I did, he, like Josef, smiled and said, "A true blond. I love blonds."